Alone on the tiny dance floor, Kristen Fowler's hips swayed slowly in rhythm to the slow blues the band was playing. Her long tanned legs and flowing blond hair moved like wind and water. The guitar solo sent chills into her soul, reminding her of Jimmy, the way his fingers would dance on the fretboard and on her skin. Jimmy played better lead than this guy, but there was no denying that the guy was good, too good for a seedy little bar in the middle of nowhere. The world was full of guitar players who were almost good enough for the big time though.

The thought made her sad. There had been a time when she believed she would be a star. Not Janis great, of course, not Ella great, but good enough. For a long time the dream had been enough to keep them going. She could sing the blues with anybody, sing the memory of pain and hopelessness that had been her childhood, the dead end of trailer parks and the unwanted attention of her mother's boyfriends. Who cared about the blues anymore though. Not the record companies that was for sure. Not the gaga public drowning in hype and blondness.

No tears though. No tears tonight.

She applauded the band. A one person standing O. The guitar player smiled at her, the drummer gave her a flourish, and the singer, tired and probably drunker than she was waved and said goodnight to the empty room. The lights came up and they band started packing it up. She wondered if the bartender would give her back her keys.

She didn't feel nearly as drunk as she had when she dropped them in the fishbowl. He was cleaning the last of the glasses. Maybe he'd give her a ride. She could offer to give him one in return. It wasn't that far to the motel though, and she had seen the waitress glaring at her when she looked back at the bar. Not far enough to bother calling a cab, but far enough to make her nervous about walking back in the dark.

“Good show,” she told the guitarist when he stepped down from the stage.

“Thanks,” he said. “I'm Elwood Kidd.” He offered her his hand and she took it.

“The blues always makes me horny,” she said. Unbelievable, she immediately thought. Maybe she hadn't sobered up as much as she'd thought. Drinking always loosened her tongue and her inhibitions. She felt herself blushing.

He laughed though. “Me too,” he said.

He was younger than her, probably early twenties she thought.

“Want a beer?” he asked.

“No. No thanks. I think I need to sober up some.”

“How about a Coke then? Coffee?”

“Coffee will keep me up all night,” she said. She followed him to the bar, took the stool beside him.

“Anxious to get in bed?” he asked.

“I'm not ready to sleep,” she said. “But I don't want to get wired up either.”

“You can be our groupie, hang out at the bar for awhile,” he said. “Or at least be my groupie, Tim and Slow Dog are leaving.”

“Which one's Slow Dog?” she asked.

“Guess.”

“The drummer?”

“Nope. He's Tim. Slow has been playing the bass in bars for thirty years or so. He's not really our front man. Our singer quit to get married.”

“Married people can't sing?” she asked.

“Her husband didn't want her hanging out in sleazy bars with a bunch of drunken reprobates like Slow. Can't really blame him.”

“He doesn't trust her?”

“No. Not in the least.”

“Isn't the bar closing?”

“No. Mac keeps it open until one. He's got nowhere else to be I guess.”

“Do you?” she asked. He reached over and took her left hand in his, held the fingers up.

“Not really,” he said. “You play lead?”

“Sort of,” she said. “Not as good as you.”

“Pretty good callouses,” he said as he examined her finger tips. “What do you have?”

“Rickenbacker 340,” she said. “But it's in the shop.”

“What's wrong with it?”

“I meant the pawn shop,” she said.

“Gonna be able to get it out?”

“I hope,” she said. She would be getting it out, of course. Even if she had to rob somebody to do it. Even if she had to fuck a Marine division. It was a 1969 Jetglo. She'd suck the pawn shop guys dick a dozen times to get it out if she had too. He only gave her a month's extension when she had however. One month's extension for a blowjob. How had she gotten herself into this place in life where she had to swallow some guys load to get him to extend a loan on a guitar? The thought made her feel like screaming, so she laughed instead.

“Can you sing?” he asked.

“Is that a pickup line?” she asked.

“Yes,” he said.

“If all you want is some pussy, please don't hold out the hope of a gig, okay?”

“I won't,” he said. “Want to audition?”

“Now?”

“What better time that the present?” he asked.

“Singing or picking?” she asked.

“Fucking,” he said. Then laughed at her expression. She flipped him a bird. Reached for her drink.

“We could use someone to play rhythm,” he said. “But what we really need is a singer.”

“I get this shit all the time,” she said. “'Let me hear you play baby,' and 'Sing one for me sweetie,” then it's fuck and out the door.

I don't need this. Hey Mac. Can I have my keys?”

“Sorry, Sunshine,” he said. “Once the keys are in the bowl you can't get them out until we open in the morning.”

“Guess I'll walk then,” she said.

She slid off the bar stool, stood digging into the pocket of her shorts, dug out a couple of crumpled dollar bills which she tossed on the bar.

“Can I use your office for awhile?” the guitarist asked.

“Knock yourself out,” Mac answered.

She pulled away instinctively when he grabbed her wrist. He stood at the same time, using her body's momentum to steer her toward the office.

She offered no resistance after her initial reaction, let herself be led away like a lamb to the slaughter. Might as well get it over with. Maybe he'd give her a ride home after.

Inside the office, he closed the door and took her in his arms. His lips pressed against hers. For a moment she resisted, then let herself surrender her kiss. She could feel him hard against her, knew that she was already his if he wanted her. The thought made her wet, wetter. Knowing was a turn on.

He opened her ripe lips with his tongue. He tasted sweet with a hint of the bourbon he'd been sipping. Her tongue felt dry, rough. She was glad she'd taken the time to brush her teeth and shave before driving to the bar. Her long legs were at least smooth, free of stubble. His hand squeezed her firm round ass, pulling her against him. She felt suddenly winded, unable to get her breath. The room felt suddenly warmer, muggier. Her breasts heaved, pressed against his chest, feeling constricted, wanting to be free.

He pulled the knot of her shirt loose, then popped open the buttons. He scooped her warm soft breasts from her bra, burying his face between them, kissing the globes of her flesh, taking her taut nipples between his soft lips. Tasting her.

She felt a whimper begin in her throat, fought to keep it silent. Then, as he nibbled her, a moan let the truth escape. A pleasant agony ran from her breasts to her pussy, making her clit tighten, feeling her panties getting wet. There would be no secrets. Already the room was filling with the aroma of desire. Her nipples were as big as the tips of her fingers, there could be no hiding that fact, not when they were being sucked on. She reached for his belt buckle, struggled to get it open, then lowered his zipper. He took the hint and opened her shorts, sliding them over her hips, letting them fall around her feet where she kicked them off, almost stumbling.

He pulled her closer, squeezing her ass, his lips on hers, their tongues sharing each other's mouths. He pulled her shirt over her shoulders, unhooked her bra, and let them join her shorts on the office floor. She unbuttoned his jeans, pulling them down, finding his hard cock.

She felt the drop of pre-cum on the velvety tip of his erect dick, feeling the shaft, longer and thicker than she'd expected, feeling his heartbeat, his longing.

There was a sofa, and she expected him to take her there, to lower her on it and give her what she needed, but he pushed her backwards toward the desk instead, spinning her around and bending her over. She felt the cold metal of the desk against her breasts, feeling her nipples scream in the sweet agony of the moment. He pulled her panties down over her ass, gave her ass a smack to let her know that she was here to be fucked, and entered her with an ease that surprised her with the suddenness of her fullness.

His hand reached around her to rub the slippery hardness of her clit. She moaned with the abrupt agony of his touch, then felt it turn to luscious pleasure. Melting for him, around him, squeezing herself around his cock, coming quicker than she ever had with a man.

“Oh God,” she screamed as the blissful euphoria poured over her. “Oh God.”

He held her and let her thrash against him, rubbing herself against him, feeling his balls against the soft curve of her ass. Wanting him to drive into her over and over.

“Fuck me. Fuck me,” she pleaded. Softly at first, the louder as he began to slide in and out of her dripping pussy. He held onto her hips, driving himself over and over into her yielding wetness as she cried out for him to fuck her harder and harder. She was coming again, then again until she was barely able to keep her legs on the floor.

He gave her backside a gentle pat, then she felt his thumb opening her asshole as he began to slide in and out of her, almost leaving her with each back thrust, the tip of his cock barely inside the soft wet lips of her pussy, then driving back into her.

“Oh yes,” she screamed. “Oh yes.”

His thumb slid into her asshole as she felt the tension of his body preparing itself for orgasm. She didn't want him to hold back, or withdraw. She wanted him to empty himself in her, let her have his hot cum.

“Fuck me, baby,” she screamed. “Fuck me hard.”

Then he was squirting his juices in her, his cock as deep inside as he could get it. She squeezed herself around him, holding him, keeping him there until every drop was in her tight hole, feeling him begin to soften.

“Did I pass my audition?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said. “Yes you did.”

“Want to go play some guitar now?” he asked.

“I want to go home to bed,” she said. “You can go with me if you want.”

“Okay,” he said. “You can audition for me in the morning.”